The Fire That Burns All

The air in the lavish ballroom was thick with tension. Chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the swirling chaos of people dressed in elegance—but there were only four people who mattered in this room.

Emir. Beren. Ece. Selim.

The moment Ece laid eyes on Beren standing beside Emir, her blood boiled. She had spent years trying to catch Emir's attention, trying to make him see her, want her, choose her. But he never did. Not once. And now—now he stood there, his hand casually resting against Beren's lower back, fingers grazing the silk of her dress like she belonged to him.

And Selim? Oh, he was watching Beren like she was the only star in his sky. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, the way his lips curved into something dangerously soft—it was infuriating.

Ece clenched her fists. No. This wasn't over.

With a slow, deliberate step, she moved towards Emir, her eyes locked on his. "You never used to bring girls to events like these, Emir," she murmured, her voice sweet—too sweet. "What changed?"

Beren felt Emir tense beside her, but his smirk remained lazily in place. "I got tired of irrelevant people, Ece."

The sting was instant, and Beren almost laughed at the way Ece's lips twitched.

"Irrelevant?" Ece repeated, feigning innocence. Her gaze flicked to Beren. "You don't look like his type."

Beren didn't even blink. "And you don't look like his problem. But here you are."

Emir chuckled lowly, his hand pressing against Beren's waist, dragging her slightly closer. "I told you, Butterfly. The insects always come back to the fire."

Selim, who had been silent until now, finally stepped forward, his voice smooth but firm. "Maybe the fire needs to be put out before it burns something precious."

Emir's smirk vanished. The entire room seemed to freeze as he turned to Selim, eyes darkening. "You sure you want to do this, pretty boy?"

Selim didn't flinch. Instead, he looked straight at Beren. "Are you really happy with him?"

Beren opened her mouth, but Emir was faster. In one swift move, he turned her to face him, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Tell him, Butterfly," he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "Tell him who you belong to."

Beren's breath hitched. His grip wasn't painful, but it was commanding, possessive, absolute. And the way his green eyes burned into her—it was impossible to look away.

She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. "I don't need to tell him," she said coolly. "You already know the answer, Devil."

Emir's lips curled into something wicked. "Good girl."

Selim exhaled sharply, but before he could speak, Ece let out a sharp laugh. "This is ridiculous. You're acting like some kind of obsessed—"

Emir didn't even look at her. His grip on Beren loosened, but the warning in his voice was unmistakable. "The only person allowed to talk right now is Beren. The rest of you can stay silent—or leave."

A challenge. A command. A declaration.

And as Beren stood there, locked in Emir's intense gaze, she realized something dangerous.

She liked the way he owned the room.She liked the way he owned her.

And God help her—she didn't want to be saved from him.